


One Night

by loopyzoop



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bar, Drunk Avengers, Drunk Steve, Drunk Steve Rogers, Happy Avengers, M/M, SteveTony, Stony - Freeform, pretty much the fact that i love drunk steve way more than i should
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4266342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopyzoop/pseuds/loopyzoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is better at looking after drunk people than he thought, Steve likes mead, and it's all kind of Thor's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was super fun to write, mostly because I love drunk Steve way too much, woops. I also have never posted any of my stevetony work on archive, but I have a rather long story coming up in the near future so that's exciting! Thank you in advance for reading whatever random stuff I put out and call a story.

Drinking was stupid.

Well, maybe not stupid.

That was the wrong word.

Useless was probably closer to the mark. It made people stupid, ugly creatures who were willing to dump their last dime and nickel out on the bar top despite the empty shelves in the fridge back home. It made them forget faces, forget words, and leave their personalities hung on the coat rack as soon as they went out the front door.

Steve was mulling all of this over as he stared down at his folded hands, a barely touched beer settled in front of him. It wasn't that he disapproved of drinking per se. Alcohol didn't completely mold a being out of someone, it just slowed them, lowered their inhibitions... and drinking didn't excuse monstrous behaviour or unpardonable sins. Steve strictly believed if they were capable of it liquored up they were capable of it dead sober.

_That_ had never really been the problem for him. Going out to bars just... wasn't fun. He hated the burning taste of alcohol and he could never be fast enough to keep up with his super charged metabolism to feel a comfortable buzz. He was forever watching over his friends as they stumbled up to the karaoke machine with sloppy grins, keeping one eye on the bar for the sleezeballs who wouldn't take no for an answer. He usually ended up pressed up where the bar met the wall, staring straight ahead at the shitty painting hanging up that would never be criticized by the glassy, unaware eyes that fell on it.

So it was one of those nights again. Thor had been the first to suggest that the team go out, followed by a wholehearted agreement from Clint, Tony, and Natasha when a little persuasion was put forward. Bruce had been against it, teaming with Steve instantly with a polite refusal. He certainly didn't need any extra influence in the rather green and angry direction and Steve was... well, Steve lacked much of an excuse.

But it only took ten minutes before all of the Avengers - Steve and Bruce included - were out the door and on their way.

That was how he ended up staring down his fruitless drink with a bitter gaze, listening to the raspy sounds of some song involving a lot of electric guitar blaring from the speakers while his teammates and co-workers had found their own spots and niches throughout the room, all looking far more happy than he was. Clint was sitting with Bruce in the comfy red chairs by the window, along with a couple other S.H.I.E.L.D. members, laughing and occasionally pulling Thor over with a toast or a story that had to be told. Thor spent the majority of the time circulating and getting everyone's spirits up while making pit stops to chat with the bartender and Steve. Natasha had parked herself on the other length of the L-shaped bar, her bottle in her hand and a small smile on her lips as she spoke with a woman who Steve vaguely recognized but couldn't put a name to. Every once and a while she would call out to Clint and Bruce, raising her drink and looking mischievous. Tony, like Thor, made his way from group to group of people but never seemed to get too close to Steve if he could help it. Instead he hung around the stage and the chairs where most of the team found themselves, looking sharp and giving sly grins to the girls who chatted him up while nursing the same beverage he had gotten when they arrived.

Tony was the only other dry person in the room. He had explained early on that he had no intentions of getting plastered that evening, which had been immediately respected by everyone, especially Steve - and in his opinion, Tony was more fun when he was most himself. The rest of the team felt more comfortable letting loose knowing that they had two people they could rely on to keep them out of trouble... or try to, anyways.

Steve picked up his glass mug and took a slow sip while trying not to wrinkle his nose in obvious disgust. He almost sloshed it down the front of his shirt when he felt a strong hand clap him on the shoulder.

"Are you upset?" The blond turned to see Thor standing behind him, eyes lit up expectantly and a friendly smile on his face.

"I'm fine," Steve replied automatically.

"Ah, but fine is not _great_ ," said Thor. "You should be great."

"Alright, I'm great," Steve agreed, raising his mug half-heartedly.

Thor shook his head with a rumbling laugh. "I don't believe you, would you like a drink?"

"I've already got a drink, and besides, I..."

"You cannot get drunk, we know. What you have got is hardly what I would call a drink, my friend, so would you like a drink?" Thor asked.

Steve's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't follow you."

"Asgardian mead is far more potent than that," he said, gesturing towards the beer that was just barely nearing half empty. "Not something I would like to hand out to just anyone, but you need it. For you it would be a dream, and it tastes like... the best drink you will ever have, let me just say. So would you like a drink?"

Steve paused for a moment, his eyes drifting back down to his own beverage and around the room before they accidentally found Tony. He shook himself internally and looked back up at Thor, who was grinning. "Alright, fine."

Thor winked, pulling a flask from his jacket pocket and tossing it to Steve who grabbed it from the air. He observed it carefully, noting the ornate patterns on the outside of the stopper. "It's all yours," Thor said. "Enjoy!"

Before Steve could thank him the god had taken off into the crowd again, his boisterous laughter sounding from another corner of the room and warming him.

...Or maybe that was just the swig he had taken.

Steve pondered the taste for a moment, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Thor had been right, it tasted delicious, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was... it seemed like some sort of mixture between apples, cinnamon, cream, and butter. It was warm, sweet, and had just a hint of spice, yet it was better than he imagined. He took another long drink and paused as it slid down his throat. His tongue tingled with the aftertaste - more pleasant than any other alcohol he remembered, although he didn't remember much.

It was a little while later that Steve began to feel an unfamiliar warmth in his stomach, followed by a light floating in his limbs. Within five minutes of that his head lolled forwards a little and he lifted it back up in shock. He was by no means an expert in this field - having only gotten half drunk with Bucky once when he was a teenager and hating it - but this he was sure was different. It was as if someone had picked him up and lifted him on to a cloud.

Steve smiled to himself dumbly. He was on a cloud. He was _floating_.

With the flask nearing empty, Steve observed the room through new eyes. Tony was in a sharp dress shirt with his sunglasses pushed up on his head, laughing. Although he couldn't hear it, Steve knew his laugh and it made him feel fuzzy. His smile was ear to ear as he considered his surroundings and he couldn't quite remember why he had been so upset earlier, it all seemed far off and ridiculous now. He was perfectly happy. All of his team was here and having a good time as they deserved, so why couldn't he? He was allowed, besides, Tony would be sober too, and Tony would... Tony.

"Bartender," he said, leaning forward slowly as he downed more mead and grinned. "Bartender!"

The tired twenty-something behind the bar gave him a wary look as she dried a beer mug, slinging her towel over her shoulder. "Can I help you?"

Steve thought about this very seriously before responding. "How are you?" he asked politely.

The woman rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, sir. Is there nothing that you need?"

She began to turn away and he jumped forward quickly, a quick panic flashing through him. "Wait! Wait, actually, there is, ma'am. I think you could help me... you... you see that man?" Steve lifted an unsteady finger to point across the room where Tony was standing, talking to Natasha now.

"Yes, I do."

"Could you tell him to come over here? Don't tell him why, though. I don't want him to know it was..." he paused, hiccupping unexpectedly. "Me."

The bartender pinched the bridge of her nose. "He might know when he gets over here and is standing right next to you."

"Could you please? I just want to talk, that's all."

She nodded, looking back over at Tony. "Yes, you seem to be a big fan of the talking. Alright, I'll send him over."

-:-

Tony was having a good night. He was in good company, for the most part, with his team and a group of surprisingly witty and funny guys who had just come from a concert a few blocks over. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol, either, and that thought brought a foreign swell of pride to his chest.

"Excuse me, sir?" He felt a tap on his shoulder and he gave a small wave to excuse himself, twisting to look at the redheaded bartender who had gotten his attention. She had a sort of grimace on her face as she spoke. "The blond in the ugly coat over there would... just like to talk to you," she made a gesture towards the other side of the bar with her thumb, indicating with her eyes that she had a pretty good idea that this person was nuts.

Tony tried to peer through the density of people, but saw a grand total of zero blond heads in the thickness. As he turned to ask the bartender if she had any idea why they might want to speak with him he realized that she had abandoned him, mixing a drink farther down the line of stools. _Fuck it_ , he thought. _Either she's super hot or it's some kind of murder trap, and I frankly don't care._ He pushed through a cluster of friends doing shots together, eyes darting around almost excitedly before landing on... Steve. In his terrible brown jacket.

"Steve?" Tony's questioned, watching him spin around, a piece of his normally perfectly parted hair coming unstuck.

Steve attempted to fix his hunching shoulders and terrible posture. "Tony!" he greeted emphatically, eyes absolutely lighting up which only served to make the other man more suspicious.

"What's up?"

"What's up with you?" Steve mirrored, vaguely beginning to slur.

Tony frowned. "Well first I was standing over there," he said, nodding to a group of people. "And then the bartender tells me that the blond in the ugly coat _just wants to talk to me_. So I'm kind of hoping either she's hot and has bad fashion sense or that maybe the coat is actually fine and she's still hot and the bartender is the one with the no sense of style. But it didn't take me very long to realize that apparently it was you."

Steve's gaze drifted off as the other man talked. "You think my coat is ugly?"

"She said it, not me..." Tony did a quick once over of his outfit. "But yes."

Steve rolled his eyes and pretended to be wounded by that, drinking from Thor's flask again. He only stopped to swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Tony eyed the mead in his hand, realizing the distinct shape of the flask and sitting down next to the super soldier, his brow crinkling. There was no way that he was actually drinking from that thing and there was no way that he was actually feeling it. Tony leaned in to smell the air surrounding them curiously. "Cap," he said after a couple of sniffs. "Are you drunk?"

"What's it... to you?" Steve pointed at him with the flask.

"Well seeing as your racing metabolic rate tends to prevent this sort of thing, I would think my confusion isn't misplaced."

"Thor's been helping me along," the blond swayed as he raised his drink which Tony immediately snatched from his hand. Had he been all himself, his lightning fast reflexes would have allowed him to dodge the grab, but he found he didn't mind. Tony smelled nice.

Tony shook the container to hear the last few millimeters of alcohol slosh in the bottom. "Christ, Steve, did you drink all of this?"

Steve only sort of mock pouted. "It tasted good."

The dark haired man closed his eyes, sucking in a calming breath. He knew that his sobriety that evening would mean a general caretaking role would be bestowed upon him, but he had not counted on _this_. Steve was always sober. Sober, clearheaded, sensible Steve. Who was this and what the hell had they done with him?

"Tastes like cinnamon," Steve continued. "You like cinnamon! I'm always making those buns at the tower... and... and I leave them in the fridge and I know that you s-say that my baking is messy and inefficient but I look in the fridge and they're always half gone!" He slapped the counter top in front of them very seriously, looking as if he had just cracked enigma.

A flush began to creep up Tony's neck. That had been _one_ time. Well, maybe two. Certainly not three. He was just hungry, and he didn't particularly want Clint's beer or Thor's ridiculous fruit loops and he certainly didn't want to get his hands removed from the rest of his arms for touching Natasha's leftover takeout. It had just been opportune for him, and, well, would he really be Tony Stark if he didn't take an opportunity? He opened his mouth to protest, but Steve's eyes gleamed. "Cinnamon is good," Tony eventually conceded.

Steve gave an uncharacteristic smirk. "Knew it."

Tony ignored the remark, instead lifting the flask and taking a whiff of whatever alien poison could manage to knock Captain America on his ass, sputtering and coughing. "Th-this is a little strong, Cap," he pointed out.

"But good."

"Yeah, well, that's up for debate." He suddenly noticed that Steve had began to sway in his seat, blinking with heavy lids at the billionaire who sat beside him. He looked much dizzier than Tony recalled, steadying him with the best of his ability. "Hey, yeah, okay. You don't look so good."

"I am absolutely fine," Steve replied assuredly. He _was_ fine. He was always fine, he wasn't some fool who lead himself into those kinds of situations.

Tony let out a small laugh. "I can't believe you're really drunk. Steve Rogers, our captain, drunk as a skunk. Did you mean to be this hilariously intoxicated or is this just a happy surprise that I get to thank Thor for later?"

"Happy surprise?"

"I see." Tony scrubbed at his face with his hand. Somewhere in the distance he heard Thor's booming voice over the general jumble of chatter and the hot lights that illuminated the karaoke stage swung across the crowd. He was beginning to feel tired - not really from lack of sleep, just the 'in general' kind of tired. A couple of younger guys supporting their friend shuffled their way to the door, ignoring his moans and groans as he went. Somehow Tony was well aware that he would be imitating that scene soon and no one else would be prepared to drag Steve's sorry ass back to the tower. That's what he gets for staying sober and caring about this guy - and if he was honest, he felt kind of proud that he was unceremoniously chosen for the job.

A series of conversations later and Steve was really beginning to go downhill. They usually went something like this:

"Tony?"

"Hm?"

"You look good."

"I try."

Or, alternately:

"Tony?"

"What?"

"I have to pee."

"That's too bad. Don't break the seal."

"What seal? I have to take a leak."

"You'll be fine."

Finally, slumping forwards against the bar with his head down on top of his crossed arms, Steve mumbled, "Can we leave?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, sipping at an almost empty glass of sparkling cider he had asked for while Steve had been on a tangent about something unintelligible about ten minutes before. He turned his wrist and looked at his watch, realizing that it was getting late. He stood up, his eyes searching for the rest of his team before turning his attention back on Steve. "Hey," he said to the bartender, who looked annoyed. "Keep an eye on him for a second. If he starts singing, let him, if he falls off his stool, leave him, and if he tries to talk to you... smile and nod in the right spots. Kapeesh?"

She gave him an almost dirty look, which he ignored before weaving his way back through the clusters of drunks. He eventually spotted Clint and Bruce where he had left them, Natasha perched on the arm of Clint's chair. He drank down the rest of his cider as he approached and they slowly took notice of him. "Where's Thor?" Tony's eyes searched the group. "Over at that table," Clint answered with a slight slur and a pleasant smile on his face. Tony looked to his right and found that the Asgardian was, indeed, sitting on a too-small chair and chatting with a few lovely (and completely sloshed) ladies celebrating somebody's thirtieth birthday. Whatever he was saying was apparently extremely amusing to them, and they giggled. Tony's expression was pained and he shook his head. "Alright, who's ready to go?"

"Go?" Clint said indignantly. "Seriously? I'm nowhere near ready yet!"

"Me either," Bruce interjected, holding his bottle up.

Tony sighed. "Well, our favorite Captain is about done," he told them, nodding towards the general area where Steve was... doing whatever it was he did when he got left alone like this.

"Steve?" Clint snorted in disbelief, took a sip of his beer, and then lowered it once he saw the look on the other man's face. "Wait, you're kidding, right?" And when Tony said nothing: " _No_."

"Thor gave him something to drink and... now I'm taking him back to the tower. I'd prefer to make sure the rest of you made it home in one piece as well."

Natasha piped in then, giving him a reassuring smile. "I'll make sure they get back alright, I'm okay. I barely drank anything." Tony mulled this over for a moment, and satisfied that her words were clear and her stance normal, gave a short nod. It was true that she drank, but rarely did she get _drunk_. It was probably some sort of safety issue for her, never wanting to reveal too much, he figured.

With a wave and a "See you later!" Tony went back to find Steve, praying that he was still located where he left him. It turned out that he was, but he had somehow acquired a party hat (Tony's best guess was from the birthday party where he had spotted Thor) that read _Bash!_ across the front in bright pink, sparkly bubble letters. He also had a smeared lipstick stain on his left cheek and he was humming contentedly to himself, playing with his thumbs.

"Okay, big guy, let's go," Tony said, taking his arm and making an attempt at hauling him off the bar stool.

Steve blinked. _Jesus, his eyes were blue. Why hadn't he taken the time to notice that before_?

"Go where? Are we leaving?" His tone seemed hopeful.

"Yep, we are."

"To... to the tower?" the blond stuttered, standing up and teetering dangerously to one side and Tony tried to get under his arm, finding himself uncomfortably short.

"Yep, to the tower."

"What 'bout the others..." he asked, lifting what was supposed to be a pointing finger and trailing off as he stumbled a few feet towards the door. Tony grunted a little under the deadweight.

"They'll be fine. I've sorted it out." He dragged the exhausted super soldier towards the doors, secretly willing Steve to just _pick up his God damned feet_. They made an awkward trek, and somewhere along the lines the party hat had fallen off the drunk man's head and was hanging around his neck - although he didn't seem especially concerned about it. The once packed venue was finally beginning to empty and a trickle of people had made their way out to the street, along with Tony Stark and a plastered, carefree, barely walking Captain America. Although that was the least of his troubles.

-:-

"Your bed!" Steve exclaimed.

Tony was trailing behind him, giving him periodic shoves in the back to keep him moving throughout the tower. Despite knowing it well, in his drunken state Steve had taken a keen interest in objects that he would normally pass by without question. Keeping him on track without pausing to stare at the paintings (which were all Pepper's ideas, anyways - Tony had no patience for that kind of thing) was a nightmare.

"Yes, my bed."

"It's... s'huge." Steve merely said, touching the soft throw that lay folded at the end of it and smiling.

Tony rolled his eyes, but didn't bother concealing the affection in his tone. "Well, I'm fond of huge things, and speaking of that - let's get you changed."

Steve's brow furrowed and he plopped himself down on top of the blankets instead. "I don... I don't need to change."

"I'm not letting you sleep in your jeans and a dress shirt. I'm cringing at how uncomfortable that is just saying it, and I'm sorry but... you reek."

"I do?"

"Like booze and cheap leather, come on, let's get you out of this." Tony made a move for Steve's shirt.

The blond stood and gave a quick attempt at doing it himself, his large hands fumbling with the buttons before he let out a low whine and dropped his hands at his sides to let the other man do it. Tony inhaled sharply, getting a hint of Steve's cologne as he deftly popped each button out. Bare chest was slowly exposed before Steve shrugged the entire shirt off, letting it drop to the floor without a second thought. He was starting to sway again and he barely managed to balance a hand against the bed behind him, letting out a giggle that was far too cute for his own good.

"Easy there, Cap," Tony said fondly, a smile tugging at his lips. He glanced down at the impossibly well fitted jeans that Steve had on and swallowed hard, his hands pausing at the belt buckle. "Do you mind?" Steve shook his head no, although it seemed that once he started shaking it he couldn't really stop. Tony's fingers (which were _not_ shaking, thank-you-very-much) undid the buckle as smoothly as he could manage and slid the leather belt through the loops, tossing it down next to Steve's shirt which lay abandoned on the floor. He gave an appreciative once over and disappeared into his walk in closet. "Alright, get rid of your pants!" he called as he left.

Tony searched through the back row of old shirts that he hadn't dug out in ages before finding what he was looking for and came back, tossing the faded, oversized MIT sweatshirt at Steve who barely managed to catch it from the air. His serum-given reflexes were apparently just another victim to Asgardian ale.

Steve, who was standing in the middle of Tony's room in plaid red boxers and nothing else, blinked at the hoodie in his hands. He smiled and made several botched attempts at putting it on before his head finally popped through and his grin got even wider, if that was even possible. His eyes were fixed on Tony and after a moment too long of getting distracted he began to wobble again, bumping the sleek night stand with a clatter.

"Alright," Tony said, tossing his own jacket down at the end of the bed. "Maybe it's time you head to bed, let's go," he began to steer Steve towards the elevator to take him to the floor that he normally occupied when he stayed at the tower, but the super soldier firmly planted his feet on the ground in defiance.

"Oh come _on_ ," the dark haired man groaned.

"Tony," Steve said very seriously. "I don't want to... go. I like it here."

Tony looked up to the ceiling as if pleading with the heavens, wanting for a brief moment to childishly stomp his feet. As much as he would be _very_ pleased to have Steve in his bed for the evening, the guy was hammered, getting feel-y in ways that he would definitely regret in the morning, and he had a carload of superheroes returning to his tower that he needed to oversee. Forcing him out the door was probably the most painstaking decision he had to make all evening. "Look, any other night I would be so down with this, probably more than is healthy, but I need you to go sleep this off, alright?" he pleaded with the other man.

Steve shook his head, seemingly ignoring the comment. "Not going to bed yet. The night is young!"

"Can we... at least get to the couch, then?"

Steve paused to consider this before deciding that it was a fine idea, stumbling his way to the elevator with Tony following behind.

By the time they got to the common area the blond had started to sing absently to himself again, and Tony was seriously reconsidering this whole Avengers thing, because apparently he only knew one song. _One fucking song_. He led the still swaying soldier to the couch and promptly collapsed beside him, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

"You look tired," Steve observed.

"I can't imagine why."

"Should sleep. S'good for you."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, I'll get right on that. I only have a drunk team coming back from the bar and you to take care of."

Steve's eyebrows knit in concern. "Y'don't have to take care of me."

"Yeah, I do," Tony said, although he wanted his friend to be right.

Steve sighed heavily. His hands were running over his knees like he didn't know where to put them. "You were avoiding me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Earlier, tonight," Steve said. "You were avoiding me at the bar. I know."

Tony felt a pang of something - guilt? regret? - at those words, because truth be told he probably was avoiding Steve, but not for the reasons that he probably assumed. He could talk to anyone in that bar and be okay, keep himself composed like he was supposed to, but one look at Steve's pressing eyes and that tended to all go to shit. "I..." he started.

"Don't worry about it," Steve mumbled.

The dull ache in Tony's chest that definitely had nothing to do with his arc-reactor only intensified.

"Steve." Blue, glassy eyes met his, a mixture of exhaustion and hope in their glance. "You didn't get drunk because of me, did you?"

Steve looked away, a familiar flush on his face. "Only... only sort of," he replied.

Tony let out a sharp sigh, immediately feeling like even more of an asshole than he usually did, which was saying something. Of course his attempts at distancing himself from someone who was off limits, out of bounds, a major _no-no_ had wound him up here, staring at a certain blond soldier who looked more like a kicked puppy in that moment. It had never been as simple as liking or disliking Steve, but at almost three in the morning it never felt more black and white.

"Look, I wasn't trying to... it's not what you think. You'd understand if you were sober," Tony said.

Steve frowned. "Well I'm not, so."

It all happened so fast. One second Steve had been looking indignant, almost as if he were about to have some sort of tantrum, and the next he was practically in Tony's lap, their lips a fraction of an inch apart. Even when plastered, Steve had paused to give him a moment to back out. When Tony didn't move (although it was possible the very situation had completely paralyzed him) his mouth came crashing down on Tony's, and he'd be damned if he didn't love it. After the initial shock wore off his lips finally became pliant, and he kissed him back fervently, loosening his tie in the process. As loud as the voice in the back of his head screamed at him to stop, it could just as easily be shut up, and Steve whimpering against Tony's mouth managed to do that just fine.

He could feel Steve readjust in his lap, both of his hands finding their way to Tony's shoulders. Steve turned the pair and he felt himself being pushed on to his back, the couch cushions sinking below him as the other man managed to straddle across his lap. He leaned back down at the newfound angle, claiming Tony's mouth in an almost soft kiss once again.

When one hand reached up to cup Tony's so softly it was as if it were fine china, he nearly groaned in happiness. There was something about seeing Steve in _his_ sweater, blushing, lips swollen, hair mussed and fluffy, with a dopey grin on his face that was already starting to drive him nuts. It was... well, for once in his life, he lacked the words to explain it. Which meant he was probably fucked.

He reached back up and wrapped his arms around the blond's neck, ignoring all further reason. He was far too blissed out too care about anything more than the fact that Steve's tongue was doing a damn good job of exploring his mouth before finally breaking off and finding his neck.

"Steve," he breathed, barely registering his own voice.

"Yeah?" Steve paused, lifting his head.

Tony laughed - whether from happiness or exasperation, he didn't really know - and thwacked the other man on the shoulder. "Don't stop!"

Steve grinned from ear to ear. "Yessir."

The feeling of Steve sucking on the juncture between Tony's neck and shoulder blocked him out, and all he saw were the patterns and stars behind his eyelids as he let out a contented moan that he would never admit to, not even under the oath. He missed the sounds of keys jangling, elevator doors opening, and not even JARVIS could stop what happened next.

"Holy shit."

"Oh, wow."

"I knew it."

"So _this_ is what was going on!"

Steve broke from Tony immediately, jumping back on the couch so quickly he genuinely feared that it might tip over. Before them were their team mates, most of them in a state of shock. Thor beamed, Clint's mouth fell open and closed, Natasha raised her eyebrows, and Bruce looked way too smug. Tony had meant to get out some sort of smart excuse, but it was like someone had crossed the wires in his brain and all that came out was a silent rush of air.

"Well, shit." Natasha dug in her pockets, and pulled out a crumpled twenty, holding it out in front of Bruce who took it from the air.

"Thanks."


End file.
